This is not a fanfic
by Sooperlooper
Summary: This is not a summary
1. This is not a chapter

**ATTENTION FANFIC READER! The original poorly composed, formatted and written in 15 minutes fic created 4-8 years ago depending on your current location per Einstein's theory of relativity is below. Yes it was completely pointless and written for absolutely no reason, yet by now it has evolved from it's not so illustrious beginnings to become something quite different. I actually have no idea what it has become onwards of chapter 3, but it is still 75% not-a-fic. To understand more you may wish to skip to chapter 4, section 1 then return here to understand the context better. Although you probably won't. Really you shouldn't have clicked on this. Ah well. Let the (I think temporary) awfullness begin.**

Hello! Do you like pizza? Me too! What a coincidence! We must be related! Yeah! Ok so where were we, nowhere I guess. Anyways… well you can go home now. Yeah you can. This was just a trick by which you would waste your time while the advertising agencies take money from you. I am robbing you of perfectly good internet time. You might as well go and well, go! Goodbye.

2 hours later

Ahh, that sauna was relaxing! Wha… you're still here? I already told you there is no story here! You can go home! GO HOME! Harry potter and such rubbish I mean really, this can't… hey stop looking at me like that. OK OK just step away. Why don't you just, oh no, really there is no need to get like that and AAARRGGHHGHGHGHGH! Nooo! O.K! You win! I'll do what you want! I'll write a story, yes yes, just one moment

One moment later

Ahem, so where do we start? Hmmmm well once upon a time, no no.

Five days later

I have created something at last! Lo and behold!

When disaster falls there is always someone out there who will help! Is it a plane? Is it a bird? Is it superman? Is it anyone? Well sort of… Anyways, this is the first and last episode of Harry Potter, uh, Man! (Now where did those copyrights get to huh?) Dum da dum da dum da dum dum!

Harry: Hello

Hermione: Hey Harry

Ron: Yo Harry

Everyone else: Hello Harry!

Harry: Ah! What a wonderful day!

Everyone else: Indeed it is!

Harry: Let's save the world!

Everyone else: Hurrah!

Voldemort: I am so evil! Mwahahahaha! Evilness will rule the world! I will defeat Harry Potter!

Harry: You will never prevail Voldemort!

Everyone else: That's right!

Harry: Lets combine our powers and kill I mean dispose of Voldemort!

Everyone including Harry: Combine forces! YEARGH!

Voldemort: Nooooooooo!  
(Dies, I mean is destroyed)

Harry Potter: And so another victory for the galactic rangers! We…..

Brrprprprpr

Uh we have to stop there, things are getting a bit messy. So bye and, huh, whats happening! Oh no, the BETA version! Close down you stupid thing before

Too late

Harry: Hello

Hermione: Shut up!

Ron: Zip it you git.

Everyone: You're a loser!

Harry: Um well soo um it's a nice day

Everyone: It's raining like hell you know

Harry: Umm well lets save the world

Everyone: You do it! We need to study!

Voldemort: Now time to kill them all! Yes they shall all die! Mwahahahahahahhhahahahahah!

Harry: You will never prevail Voldemort!

Everyone: Yes he will

Harry: No he won't

Everyone: Yes he will….

Voldemort: Enough! Potter! You shall feel pain! Crucio!

Harry: **ARGHHHHGHHHHH!**

Everyone: cooooooool…

Voldemort: thank you, thank you, now you all die!

So voldemort kills everyone and he rules the world, only to fall off the second rung of a ladder when trying to fix the faulty pluming and thus breaks his neck and dies. With no sound leader the world is thrown into chaos with some added help from some U. which appear for no apparent reason… Are you people dead yet? Good, finally I can have my spa bath!

Oh dear um, well that's all folks! No you want more chapters? Oh why? Boo hoo! Will I ever get my Beauty sleep?

And so everything ends sadly ever after although I am forced to write new chapters. But I will have my revenge! Now Iwill write even crazier stuff! Mwahahahaahahahah… (Falls out the window) "Oh crap"…. (unpleasant crunching sound)

All that's well that ends well, although there will be new chapters….


	2. Why is this still getting reviews?

This story was published on 01-27-07. This has been posted on New Year's Eve. As of tomorrow it will have been about 3 years since this has been published. Yet what intrigues me is how now and again I still get reviews. In fact, I even got flamed for a 2 year old story that I wrote in about 15 minutes and was probably lying at page 157 in the fanfiction archives. Anyways I really have no clue what's going on but I'm guessing that if I post this, it should insure me reviews for the next 3 years as well. Now I could just leave it here, but fanfiction doesn't allow that. So I'm going to draw inspiration from the south park episode I watched yesterday and write something else, 3 years later. And if it looks like it was written in more than 15 minutes, you can sue me!

(Exiting a recording studio)

John Lennon: Well I'm glad we got our 28th album recorded just in time

Paul McCartney: Yeah despite your constant hippy whining.

John Lennon: Oh haha fat boy.

George Harrison: Well wanna get lunch? I know this great Mexican place.

Paul McCartney: No way, Mexican food is for illegal immigrants.

John Lennon: Nobody cares about your racial prejudice Paul. We're having Mexican whether you like it or not.

Paul McCartney: Well screw you guys, I'm going home.

George Harrison: Ah we don't need him. Always messing our stuff up with his dumb songs about race wars, come on, the place is just across this street.

(As they are crossing the road, Ringo gets run over)

George Harrison: Oh my god! They killed Ringo!  
John Lennon: You bastards!  
George Harrison: Can we actually say that in a K+ fic?

John Lennon: Ah who cares it's almost over

George Harrison: Great

Hmm that didn't go right, let's try again.

Harry: Despite that fact that I've saved the world 3 times, I still get a B- in History of Magic.

Ron: You don't care do you?  
Harry: Nope.

Hermione: Yeah, I only got an A+.

Harry: You really think it's unfair you got an A+?

Hermione: Well yes.

Harry: So what would you want instead of an A+.

Hermione: ...I don't know

Harry: Exactly.

Ron: Indeed.

Harry: Yes.

Ron: Yes.

Harry: Yep.

Ron: Yeah.

Hermione: So wanna go outside by the lake?

Towelie: Lakes can be wet. Always keep a towel to keep dry. That's why Towelie says, don't forget to bring a towel.

.........

Harry: What?

Towelie: Don't you need a towel?

Harry: ...no...

Towelie: Oh...

...............

Towelie: You wanna get high?

Harry: No thanks.

Towelie: Well I'm just going to light one up.

(Lights one up)

Towelie: That's it. Won't you take me to funky town yeah.

Hermione: Does anyone have any idea what's going on.

Harry: Nope.

Ron: Not a clue.

Towelie: Man I'm so high right now. I can see the air.

Hermione: Is that really appropriate in this fic?

Harry: We'll never know. We'll never know.

If you were offended by this fic, please contact 1800-3253686237 and remember the code word: Alabama. After saying this please wait for 5 minutes without hanging up, after you will be sent a package containing your own personal smart towel. It can beat an average human in chess and knows just how dry you need to get.

Note: Any attempts of mass homicide, brainwashing, kidnapping or general attempts of world domination are purely coincidental and TY corporations takes responsibility for any negative outcome.

Harry: I thought this was over.

Ron: Man,

Hermione: I really don't know what this is about, but does anyone else feel drained of energy and life?

Ron: What?

Hermione: The whole atmosphere seems all depressing, like a dark ocean or something.

Towelie: The Ocean can get really wet, remember to bring a towel.

Harry: You're still here?

Towelie: Yeah

.................

Towelie: You wanna get high?

Harry: You know what, you suck,

Towelie: Man I'm so baked I've got no idea what you said.

Ron: Indeed.

Harry: Indeed.

Towelie: I bet you didn't notice that number above is 1800-FAKENUMBER right?

Ron: Nope.

Harry: We didn't.

Towelie: Yay


	3. The Tome of Ultimate Reality

And another chapter! A year early! Huzzah! What could lead to such an event? Well I don't know, I somehow realized that although there have been approximately 12432 previous dates in which the world was supposed to end, this might just be the right one and we might not be alive or something. Or we might all just die tomorrow from mechanical dinosaur sars or some other disease I made up.

But enough with the justifications. I will no longer be trying to keep in the spirit of the original. Then I don't know what to do. So I do just that. So watch and read and listen.

Chapter: Revelations and Revolutions

Harry and Ginny were sipping tea. The table they sat at was made from 300 year old ebony and had a finish of fine oak.

"You know something?" asked Harry.

"What is it?" replied Ginny while sipping her tea in the most immaculate way possible.

"I just realized the truth of a thousand eternities."

"And what might that be?" pondered Ron nonchalantly in the dexterous wardrobe of abomination.

"The Truth is that there is that the light will not shine ever again. Hope is lost and vile beasts will devour the plague that I had wrought."

"That's fine with me," said Ginny. "By the way, did you notice Ron there?"

"No I didn't," said Harry. "Why might he be there oh beneficiary of mine?"

"It's my house," said Ron.

"It's true," nodded Ginny. "He bought it thanks to the tax deductible mortgage plan the government introduced 25 minutes ago."

"I see," said Harry.

At this point he stood up, looking down onto earth with his palms clutched downward towards the atmosphere.

"You never see, but I do."

"See what?" asked the barn mouse.

"That I am who must come. I am the impeccable sinner. I am the Matrix."

And all was silent. And darkness was naught.

"You see it was all a trick," said Harry to the magic wardrobe. "By devising an elaborate hoax everyone had it figured that I would be dead. But it was not the case. Because they had made one fatal miscalculation."

"What was that?" asked Ginny.

"That I am not dead."

Suddenly the heathen vampires burst from the darkness and clamored onto Harry yet they could not harm him.

"You traitors of the blood of the Northern prince. I had always foreseen your arrival. Thou art the makers and weavers of word yet I seethe through your pores. Ye foul bottles of globby chip oil manufacturers, I laugh at your cowardly graves."

And all went silent again.

"You know what," said Ron. "I'm leaving. This seems too much of a rip of that other thing."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," said Harry.

"Why not?" asked Ron.

"Because," said Harry while slicing Ron's head off with a fell swoop of his gilded wand, "I could not let you leave."

"Why did you tell me that after you decapitated me?" asked Ron's head.

"I cannot say," answered Harry.

"I know why," said Ron. "It is because I know the real truth, the truth you were told was not actually truth."

There was silence

"It was lie," added Ron for further effect.

"Then what is the truth?" asked Harry.

"You are me," said Ron. "All"

"Piece by piece."

"Word is not a feeling but a state."

"And so parallel completes the opposite."

And thus as Ron's arm had predicted, the realm of mortals was unscathed due to the sacrifice and great evil was destroyed. As for Harry and Ron, they now knew of the true nature of reality.

"Man is beast," said Harry. "Who pretends he is all. Everyone you see exists upon the brink of madness. Living their lives, thinking they're making a difference. It does not take a wise man to see it cannot last forever. One day they'll go over. All hell will break lose. The true form of man shall be seen and he shall devour his neighbor and all that surround him."

"And where shall we be on that day?" asked Ron.

"Somewhere," answered Harry.


	4. More Stuff is Explained, And More Stuff

And now, to provide you with yet another chapter. Let us continue the strangeness we encountered in the last chapter and charge forward in all constructive means. As a bonus this will be 3 chapters. Or maybe 2 chapters. Rolled in to one. I'll decide that later.

Chapter 4.1: The nature of reality (and this fic)

First a brief history. Never mind. Anyways. Forth. Continue. Ahem

This fic as has been noted several times was created in 15 minutes by a very bored me about 4 years ago. Yet somehow it managed to attract numerous reviews long after I had forgotten to exist. Now I will subvert all that I have said and say that everything was planned.

This fic is not a fic. The title says so. But it has received reviews and has been read and blah blah. Infact it has received more reviews than most of my serious works. Is this fic a satire on the warped state of the fanfic demographic? That a fic that is not a fic can somehow achieve success by means of the deranged masses? Are all your reviews, flames and musings about taco bell all part of my plot? Well it certainly didn't start that way but let's say it achieved that thing which I just said and can't remember. And they are what made me continue this abomination. That's right. It's YOUR fault that this continues to exist and it wil be thanks to YOU that it will continue to grow, consuming all the fanfics in existence, to form a reaction of not-fic meets actual fic till it is all no more. If you wish no part in this then step away now. Close this fic and never come back to it.

But more importantly, is this a fic? It's apparently not, yet it has evolved from something clearly not a fic to something that may seem to be. Evolution? Inner self-realisation? Or has it not changed? Has it simply become an attempt to be something it never was yet in the attempt meander from its actual purpose? If this is still not a fic and if not, then what is it? Is this simply an existential nightmare? What proof do you have that this is not a fic and can that same proof by extension be used to undermine your own existence?

Let's reassess: This is not a fic, yet it has attracted an audience and seems to have gone into the realms of an actual fic while still upholding the claims that it is not one. This can be seen as a metaphor for our existence. If this truly is not a fic then how can we say that anything else is real either? What is the definition of its existence, what defines this fic that is not a fic? As such how do you define a person? We seem to know those rules, but then we can see rules don't always apply. A plush cushion might be more of a person than you are. Consider this friends.

Can you see now the enigma that is this fic? It is a false reality, one to plunge deep into the foundations of your beliefs and shake them up. Be warned, as the journey to discover the nature of being can be dangerous.

And on that note; plzzzzzzzz r&r thnxx!111

Chapter 4.2:

Oops I forgot the title. How daft. Anyways after all the profound stuff, you might want to cool down. So now we introduce a simple and easy to understand plot. Harry and his friends get a new teacher, who is very different! How will he fit in? Let's see! And so without further ado, introducing the new 6th year class teacher: The monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

"So what's our new teacher like?" asked Harry.

"It is something we cannot fully fathom as it is not shown in relation to any other object thus we cannot really grasp its actually dimensions," replied Hermione.

My god let's try this again. Err how about Daniel Plainview...

"Alright settle down," said the new teacher, a guy dressed in old fashioned early 20th century clothes and sporting a huge moustache.

"If you say that I am an oilman, you would see that what you have said about what I have seen would undoubtedly be considered the truth about the matter which I have said about," he announced. "I am utterly unqualified to teach and should not even be here but I have been brought here even though I am a completely unsuitable character to fill this position even for ironic purposes considering that most of you probably have no clue who I am."

The class was silent.

"Come on," he pleaded. "Surely you've seen those youtube videos of me."

"Oh yeah, you're in that movie about milkshakes," said Ron.

"That movie was not about milkshakes!" shouted Daniel. "That's all you dimwits identify me with! Are you all that primitive?"

"Hey wait," said Hermione. "Why're you turning this into some kind of rant about tastes when you clearly are a character yourself, it seems like a rather crass attempt by um someone to make a statement."

"I don't care!" he yelled. "I drink your milkshake! I DRINK IT UP!"

"Look you just..."

"DRRRRAIIINAAAAGGGGGGEEEEEEE!" he yelled interrupting her. Then he proceeded to take a bowling pin and beat Neville to death with it.

"Woohoo, pointless pop culture reference fulfilled," said Harry weakly.

"I don't understand," said Hermione. "Such self loathing by someone."

"I think someone sold out," said Ron.

"I've never been more depressed," said Hermione.

"Alright children," said Daniel. "Now what am I doing here?"

"I don't even know who you are," said Ron.

"Very well then, I'm finished," he said and left the room.

"I don't get it," said batman. "This is too silly."

"That's right bat," said Neville.

"So what really happens?" asked Hermione.

"It's simple, I really am Voldemort, Voldemort never existed. I killed him then took his identity. And Neville was already dead."

Then they all got shot by Duly Appointed Federal Marshals. The end.

Chapter 4.3: An ode to the letter A.

As many people have pointed out, when searching the letter a, this fic (or not-a-fic) will pop up on the first page. In a tribute to that letter I will copypaste random bits and pieces from Harry Potter that I can find in less than 3 minutes, mash em together and replace all the c's with d's. It will be an enjoyable read I trust.

Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpedted. Harry got a shodk the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitdhen mantelpiede and it shouted, "Tudk your shirt in, sdruffy!" The ghoul in the attid howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were donsidered perfedtly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the dlanking ghoul: It was the fadt that everybody there seemed to like him.

And she offered him the flowerpot.  
Harry stared at them all watdhing him.

"W-what am I supposed to do." he stammered.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror dould drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these drearns.

Hermione, who dame badk the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the sdhool three nights in a row ("If Fildh had daught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nidolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

"Harry Potter!" said the dreature in a high-pitdhed voide Harry was sure would darry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir ... Sudh an honor it is . . . ." "Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk dhair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large dage. He wanted to ask, "What are you." but thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, "Who are you." "Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the dreature.

"Five, you mean, onde she's taken off Hermione's." "Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her." "She might not have needed saving if we hadn't lodked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

They had readhed the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The dommon room was padked and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at eadh other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger bedame their friend. There are some things you dan't share without ending up liking eadh other, and knodking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	5. The tale of Voilence, the violent violin

What's this? An almost normal chapter, at least by the standards of this (not)fic? Time will tell.

"Harry, Ron, come here," called Hermione. Ron and Harry walked over, Ron walking rather unsteadily.

"Yo wassuuup..." said Ron.

"So what do you want today?" asked Harry.

"Yeah are we going to another gay rights parade?" asked Ron.

Hermione sighed.

"First of all, it was not a gay rights parade, it was an elf rights parade, and secondly no, we are not going to attend a parade for elf rights."

"Yeah gays, elfs, same thing," said Ron.

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"So what are we here for then?" said Harry.

Hermione produced a small leatherbound book.

"I want to show you a story I've been working on."

"Hmm ok, what's it about?"

"It's called Voilence, the Violent Violin. It's about a very violent violin."

"What...what?" asked Harry.

"It's called Voilence..."

"Yeah I got that. I mean, just...well yeah what the hell. This is about a violin that beats people up?"

Hermione shuffled slightly.

"Let's sit down."

So the three of them found some chairs and uh...sat down...on...them...

"So, this story is about a violent violin?" asked Harry.

"I don't believe in violins," said Ron.

"Well yes," replied Hermione, ignoring Ron. "However, it is not that simple."

"Ok then, tell me what it's about then," said Harry.

"Right then, there's this violin called Voilence, it is a violin which is very violent..."

"Ok let's start to break it down from here," interrupted Harry. "First of all, how can a violin be violent?"

"Violins are so mainstream," said Ron.

"Well, violins can be used as weapons," said Hermione. "Sort of like a bat, or a big stick."

"Violins are handcrafted with care and precision," said Harry. "There's a reason they're used as musical instruments, not tools to hit people on the head with."

"Well yes, but this is a violent violin you see."

"How does that change anything? Look, Voilence is the violin, and it's violent am I correct?"

"Yes."

"And it's a violin itself, it's not like some angry guy carrying a violin."

"I think I have made that abundantly clear."

"Alright, I just wanted to confirm, you know, to make sure I wasn't hearing you wrong. So this is a horror story right? I know Stephen King made this book about an evil washing machine."

"No. It's a social satire."

"Those things scratch up your ride real nasty man," said Ron, staring into the distance.

"It's a social satire about violent violins?" asked Harry.

"No, it's about the prevalence of violence in our society and the irony of how it can be embodied in the most unlikely of objects."

"And you're going to do this through violent violins?"

"Well yes."

Harry ran his hand through his hair.

"So these violins, they can talk and stuff?"

"I hadn't completely considered that, but I suppose yes."

"How exactly are they violent? Do they have arms and punch each other?"

"Not exactly."

"Ok so let me try to get this straight. You're writing some social satire on the presence of violence in unlikely objects through aggressive violins, which are like people themselves."

"Sort of."

"This makes no sense at all, does it Ron?"

Ron wasn't paying attention.

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean whatever."

"So why exactly is this violin violent?" continued Harry.

"Well, its name is Voilence," replied Hermione

"That's neither an excuse nor does it make sense. Why would its parents, or its creators or whoever name a violin which is going to specifically be violent a name which sounds very much like violence. That'd be like calling a girl Ebony Darkness...wait never mind."

"That's part of the irony you see," said Hermione, opening a random page in the book. "How we take on whatever identity is given to us."

"I thought it was about the prevalence of violence."

"It has many overlapping themes."

"That's some pretty sweet ice cream," said Ron.

"But why would the violin be violent for no reason?" asked Harry. "What childhood traumas or deep seated psychological issues caused it to be vicious in such an indiscriminate way?"

"Don't be silly," said Hermione. "It's a violin. How can it have parents or psychological problems."

"You just said these violins were like people."

"Well not exactly like people."

Harry sighed in exasperation.

"So how exactly does this violin practice its violence. By killing people?"

"No, it is just violent in its outlook."

"What, it plays violent music? Help me here."

"Its violence is self contained. Also in the end we won't know if it was actually violent or only thought it was violent."

"But...it's a violin. How can it do all those things I mean I just thought how crazy this is."

"Well this is a magical world we live in right?"

"Yes but you never told me whether it was a magical violin or a muggle violin."

"It's just a violin."

"The behaviour you were describing earlier was decidedly un-violin like."

Hermione suddenly closed the book angrily.

"It's obvious you can't understand such sophistication. I don't blame you, not everyone has the mental capabilities to understand such subtle art."

"I just don't understand how this all works!" exclaimed Harry. "You keep contradicting yourself. Nothing you're saying makes any sense. How did you even get this idea?"

"Well," said Hermione, leaning back on her chair again. "I got it while listening to Jethro Tull."

"What's that?" asked Harry, puzzled. "A shipping contractor?"

"They're some weird folk-rock band from way back," said Ron dreamily. "Like 7 people in the world care about them anymore."

"Yeah, anyways I was listening to this song called aqualung by them," continued Hermione. "And I noticed how it's about a hobo whose called Aqualung. The strange name of something completely unrelated sparked a thought in my brain and thus the idea was born."

"Alright, ridiculous as that is, aqualungs and street bums are completely different and unrelated in every possible way," said Harry. "This violent violin of yours obviously came about because you found the words violin and violence similar. What would make more sense in context might be Voilence, the violent mandolin. Also, why you had to name it Voilence for further effect, I'll never know. Secondly, the thing is only the name of the person. It's not like the hobo is actually a piece of diving equipment."

"Hobos aren't mainstream man," said Ron.

"I think we both have differing interpretations," said Hermione.

"What I just told you was obvious logic."

"Great art is not made by logic."

"Right, but unless this is a work of surrealism which apparently it isn't, some basic ground rules have to be laid. You can't just keep changing things about whether this violin is like people or isn't, or can think, or is actually violent. I'm rather surprised by all this, this doesn't seem at all like the work of a sensible and pragmatic person."

"Well, I think I had an artistic awakening. Anyways, I'm off to get this manuscript published. See you later."

Hermione got up and began to walk across the room.

"She took some of my grass," whispered Ron in Harry's ear, confirming everyone's suspicions.

Just then Daniel Plainview came in with a bowling pin and beat up Ron with it whilst yelling 'DRAINAGE!' Then they all got shot by Dooly Appointed Federal Mahshals, but survived since they had discovered the tome of ultimate reality, concealed within a smart towel.


	6. In Memoriam

And now it's time for this to end. Fresh ideas are unviable, there's nothing more to add, all that had to be said has been said. As long as the letter A exists there will be no need for publicity gimmicks for a joke that was no longer joke to stop being something. Still, it needs a conclusion even if it may defy simple literary structure, like having a plot. And so. It is. Thus. Verily.

Ted Harrison had a busy day at the office. He was trying to write a story.

Ted's oblique charm did weigh carelessly.

But he was not obliged.

He had tried to be a writer.

One ever so true.

He delved into an undisclosed market.

But then he found.

The market was not a true market in the monetary sense.

He tried to make some money.

He failed quite spectacularly.

He couldn't use iambic pentameter very well.

He got shot by his only fan.

Only he wasn't a fan either.

He was just some nut.

In his death throes he wrote out a story.

About another story.

As he didn't have very good original ideas.

They mostly involved space leprechauns.

And so he wrote out this story based on a story.

Whilst dying outside a local Starbucks.

The customers were indifferent to his plight.

Because that's the kind of people who go to Starbucks.

And so his writings were discovered by a hobo with instructions not to let them fall into the hands of the 'govurment hipies [sic]'. He promptly sold the writings for booze money. The buyer thought he'd discovered the new dead sea scrolls but found that was not the case. So he threw the manuscript away and it was lost forever. What follows is an approximation of what Fred…no Ted had written based on absolutely no idea of what he had written:

It was a dark and stormy night in Mogwarts. The leaves rustled and the owls meowed surely as a soft velvet rug on a Sunday evening. The black walls of the castle seemed a ghastly shale of orange on the blustering afternoon. Harry was sleeping in his dormitory when he heard a sharp noise.

'Mister Gotter, you are not doing your assignment,' chirped the Potion's master in a voice that cut like jagged steel windows.

'I'm sorry professor Fnape. Please do forgive me as it had been a most arduous day and I only wished to rest my travel weary limbs.'

'Mayhaps on a better morning I may have tolerated such shortcomings, but the hour is ripe for more grave punishment.'

'But good sir!' insisted the teenaged wizard boy known as Darry Hotter. 'I have been punished too frequently, if I should suffer another such disciplinary demonstration I fear my permanent record will be blighted and my future prospects shall suffer!' He spoke the words in the feeble voice of an old puppy in the last stages of lung cancer due to excessive smoking.

'My patience grows weary and no longer shall I bear such insolence in my presence. So hear my words, spoken with fervour, you are hereby sentenced to detention!' His voice shook like a thousand thunder bolts in hell.

'Please sir, I want some more,' implored Larry with all the elvin charm he was taught in his upbringing at Givendell.

He was henceforth given not one but two detentions. And so It was.

Rest in peace Ned, what a great human being you were.

It has been quite a journey ladies and gentlemen, half a decade spent on a work which contains less than ten thousand words that only bears the most arbitrary semblance to anything that might conventionally be called a story. That just goes to show how bad money is bad for the economy. And so I leave you with this.

Epilogue: Harry Potter: delta blues folk jazz bluegrass recording artist extraordinaire

'This is I understand your final tour?' asked the interviewer.

'That's true, I've gotten too old for this, I've got no horizons to expand musically,' replied Harry. 'I've made a song in every genre known to man and fused them together in every possible combination, had 10 platinum records won 16 grammies along with countless other music awards along with 3 Emmies which I'm not sure how I got. I just feel there's nowhere left to go now.'

'You are the most famous delta blues folk jazz bluegrass singer in the world. Has the fame just become too much for you?'

'I don't mind the fame actually. I just don't like the fact that the general public shows the most appreciation for my songs which feature me playing one note in a continuous loop for 3 minutes, the other 2 minutes consisting of frogs croaking. I know the majority of my songs are similar but I feel the songs with actual melodies are worth no less in merit.'

'The delta folk jazz bluegrass…'

'Delta blues folk jazz bluegrass you mean.'

'Yes, the delta blues folk jazz bluegrass scene has really taken off thanks to you. Don't you feel you should stay as an inspiration to all the new artists?'

'I think I've hung around long enough. There are so many talented new musicians, I think they can continue fine on their own.'

'Great words indeed. Thank you for your time.'

'My pleasure.'

Half an hour later, Harry wearily made his way to the stage with his old blue acoustic guitar in hand. He played one song that lasted the entirety of the concert. It consisted of half a chord. The lyrics were synonyms of the word 'exuberance' blurted out in rapid succession. Percussion was done on old cans of baked beans. It was considered a masterpiece.


End file.
